


And All Our Chickens Come Home to Roost

by marcicat



Series: Eragon Redux: A Trilogy Means Three [3]
Category: Eragon (2006)
Genre: Gen, Movie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-31
Updated: 2009-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcicat/pseuds/marcicat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the winter, Eragon, Murtagh, Sapphira, and Thorn join the resistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All Our Chickens Come Home to Roost

**Eragon**

"I can't believe you ate all the dried apples!"

"Sapphira told me you didn't like them!" Murtagh said.

Murtagh's expression was all innocence, and Eragon raked his fingers through his hair. "Sapphira has a big mouth," he muttered. She had a soft spot for Murtagh, though, that was for sure.

"Besides," Murtagh added, almost as an afterthought, "it wasn't me who ate them."

*Apples?* Thorn peered in through the cabin's tiny window. He'd hit his growth spurt weeks ago, but it was still sometimes a surprise to see him so _big_ , instead of scampering in and out around their feet.

And it was a cloudy day, so it was dark in the cabin, but Eragon would swear Murtagh actually blushed. He could feel his eyebrows going up. Murtagh just shrugged and looked at the floor. "He wanted to try them."

"Did he like them?" Sapphira was pretty much all meat, all the time, but Thorn seemed more adventurous in his eating.

*Mmmm.* Thorn's mental broadcast was accompanied by a low satisfied rumbling. Eragon could hear both, and he wasn't sure if it was a side effect of the mental link they'd all shared, or if all dragons could talk to whoever they wanted. He still couldn't hear any of _Murtagh's_ thoughts, which he usually thought was a very good thing, but Sapphira and Thorn never had any trouble getting their message across.

"We'll get you more," Murtagh promised, and then it was Eragon's turn to look away. All the warmth and emotion that Murtagh liked to pretend he didn't have were right there in his eyes whenever he spoke to Thorn. It was beautiful and humbling and still made him feel uncomfortable every time he saw it, even though that made Sapphira laugh at him.

Eragon cleared his throat a little and looked around the cabin. They were supposed to be taking an inventory of their supplies, but it was pretty obvious they could be summed up in a single word: low. They could get meat easily enough -- there wasn't much that dragons couldn't bring down, even hampered by trees. It was everything else they were running out of. Dried fruit, sprouting grains, the sweet tea they'd gotten from the Varden -- all of them gone or nearly gone.

*There's still plenty of beet root at least,* Sapphira broadcast, poking her nose through the doorway. *I can smell it.*

Eragon and Murtagh exchanged matching looks of dismay. They both hated beet root. They'd pushed it to the back of the stores, but it looked like they were going to have to eat it after all.

*Or we could go find more food somewhere else!* Thorn had moved around to the door, and he butted his head up under Sapphira's chin.

*It is spring,* Sapphira agreed. *An unseasonably warm spring.*

Well. That was -- not exactly a first, but still unusual, to have the dragons making plans without them. It had been a quiet winter; five months of snow, training, snow, flying, snow, magic, and did he mention snow? He'd gotten used to it. But the land was undeniably edging towards springtime.

Eragon looked at Murtagh, then the dragons, then the beet root. "Maybe it's time to find those rebels," he said.

**Murtagh**

Flying was faster than walking, but thy all agreed that dropping two dragons and their riders into the middle of a supposedly secret camp would probably cause more trouble than they were really looking for. Unspoken between them was the thought that they had no idea what they'd be walking into -- it was possible the dragons would need the element of surprise, if it turned into a rescue.

There hadn't been any more visions since that first one of the queen and Eragon's cousin. They knew that five months ago, the resistance planned to winter over in the Sanctuary and then search for Eragon in the spring, so he could be the figurehead for whatever plans they'd made by then. It was impossible to predict how they would react to a second dragon and rider, especially when that rider was him. Impossible to even guess if the group had made it through the winter, or if the king's army had found them first.

"Do you know where we are?" Eragon's voice interrupted his circling thoughts.

Murtagh frowned. "Not really. I've never been here before." They were walking in the general direction of where Sapphira said the Sanctuary should be, and he could still feel Thorn's quiet excitement in the back of his mind, so they hadn't gotten turned around by accident. "Why?"

"I think I hear something," Eragon said. "People. Fighting, maybe."

Once Murtagh pulled his focus back to their immediate surroundings, he could hear it too. The ring of metal on metal drifted through the snowy trees. "There aren't any villages around here. It must be the resistance." He knew what Eragon was going to say before he could open his mouth, and decided to save him the trouble. "We should help them."

They took off at a run, not even trying to stay quiet. He burst into a wide clearing a half step behind Eragon, sword in hand -- and stopped. He'd been expecting a battle -- Urgals at worst, bandits at best. He hadn't been expecting a bunch of children in grubby coats, fighting with each other. Or at least, he assumed that's what they had been doing. They were just standing around looking shocked now, and for a long moment nobody moved.

Then a short one sidled over to a tall one -- they really all looked almost the same, with their big coats and hats pulled way down over their ears -- and said, "Are those bandits?"

"We're not bandits," Eragon said, putting his sword away. Murtagh sent a sort of _*don't worry, not in danger, they're actually kind of funny*_ feeling in Thorn's direction, and it felt like Eragon was giving Sapphira a similar "stand down" message. The connections between them bloomed and faded unpredictably, but if Sapphira was paying attention to him, he could usually tell when she was talking with Eragon. "We're looking for the resistance."

The short kid lit right up at that, but the tall one looked suspicious. "Who are you?" he asked. Murtagh couldn't help but notice that _he_ still had his sword out, and pointed in their direction. "How did you find us?"

"Well, you were making an awful lot of noise," Eragon pointed out, ignoring the first question. "It was hard to miss. We thought you might be bandits, or being attacked by bandits. We just wanted to help."

The tall kid bit his lip and glanced around at the others. "Stay there," he said. "We'll decide what to do about you."

Murtagh looked at Eragon in disbelief as the kids actually gathered in a huddle on the other side of the clearing. "I really hope this is resistance day care, not resistance weapons training," he muttered quietly, mostly because he knew it would make Eragon laugh.

And Eragon did, and then he leaned companionably against Murtagh's shoulder. "I bet they'll take us right to the camp."

Sure enough, the group huddle broke up and the tall kid motioned them over. "Come with us," he said. "We'll take you to the camp. But don't try anything!" He scowled so ferociously that Murtagh had to fake a cough to cover up his smile.

"You looked just like that when we first met," he told Eragon, trying to sound solemn and serious.

Eragon just laughed again. "Good thing I had you to teach me, then. Come on, let's go meet the queen."

**Eragon**

First impressions were a problem. At least this time it had been "seize the imposters" instead of "seize the traitor." On the other hand, this time they were both being held, instead of just Murtagh. They'd been met by guards at the edge of camp and hustled into a locked room. "I'm Eragon," he'd insisted. "Dragonrider?"

One of the guards had laughed. "Right, and I'm King Galbatorix," he'd said. "You're no more a dragonrider than I am." It had seemed undignified to stomp his food and insist that no, he really _was_ Eragon, so there they were, locked up and waiting for someone in charge to come along and question them.

"Maybe we should have just flown in," Eragon said. Murtagh would have to get tired of smirking eventually, right?

"But this way is so much more fun," Murtagh said.

"Just wait till we get around to explaining you," Eragon told him, and then felt bad when Murtagh winced at the thought. "At least Thorn and Sapphira are enjoying themselves," he said, awkwardly changing the subject.

*The Sanctuary is very pretty.* Sapphira sent an image of a crowded valley, overflowing with a mish-mash of buildings and tents. *The egg is here.*

"Is Roran?" Eragon asked out loud.

He didn't have to wait for an answer -- the door burst open and Roran hurried inside. "Eragon?"

"Roran!" His cousin looked older, but the grin that lit up his face was exactly the same as he remembered. He found himself swept up in a bear hug that turned into excited backslapping and a hair ruffle.

"It is you!" Roran said. "Sorry about the..." He gestured around the room, so Eragon he assumed he meant 'sorry for locking you up, we don't get many visitors.' "We've all heard stories about the 'great dragonrider, Eragon.' I think the guards were expecting something more... Well, something more."

"Why does everyone say that?" He was almost starting to expect it. Was it really that hard to believe he could be a dragonrider?

"Come on, people don't know what to expect. They hear these stories, they think you're eight feet tall and can shoot lightning bolts out of your fingertips or something."

He ruthlessly quashed the urge to show off. He couldn't make himself taller, but he could probably manage the lightning bolts, if he was willing to risk passing out afterwards. He could feel Sapphira's warm reassurance that he didn't need to prove anything, and -- more faintly -- Thorn's indignation.

"And who's this?" While he'd been distracted, Roran had switched his attention to Murtagh. Murtagh just looked at Eragon, as if to say 'he's _your_ cousin.'

"This is Murtagh," Eragon said. "He's a dragonrider too." Then he held his breath, waiting for the reaction.

The name Murtagh passed without comment. The dragonrider part did not. "Two dragons?" Roran actually looked around, as if they might appear out of thin air. "So there must have been... and you... We need to talk with Iluriel."

As they walked out of the building, Eragon thought, _my cousin is on a first name basis with royalty_ , and he tried very hard not to think, _I wonder if he knows about his father_ , and then Thorn broke in with, *Have you seen any apples yet?*

**Murtagh**

Thorn's running commentary in his head was -- barely -- keeping him from hyperventilating. He hadn't been this nervous facing down the Varden. Of course, there'd been an army of Urgals to take his mind off his nerves back then.

The queen was very much as he remembered her, a stern, no-nonsense woman. She gave no indication that she knew who he was, just looked them both over and then gestured at the sky. "Well, let's see them," she said. He looked at Eragon. It was clear that their goal of an easy-going and low-key entrance to the resistance was not going to happen. In that case, might as well make it spectacular.

*Thorn?* he called. Both dragons soared into the camp, executing a point perfect landing. The crowd that had gathered took several hasty steps backwards and he could hear weapons being drawn. Sapphira dropped into a defensive crouch and Thorn reared up, screaming his defiance.

*I can fight my own battles, you know,* he sent towards both dragons.

*And now they know, that if you do, you will not stand alone.*

He shifted closer to Eragon, not completely surprised to realize that there wasn't far to go. Both dragons settled into a more relaxed position. Still clearly alert, but less battle-ready. It must have made an impressive sight -- even the queen raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I am Iluriel," she said. Interesting. He assumed she wasn't trying to hide the fact that her rightful title would be "Queen Iluriel" -- she was clearly in charge of the sizable force gathered in the valley -- but she wasn't claiming it either. "And you must be Eragon. We had word from the Varden that you left their city some months ago, Dragonrider."

Eragon just nodded his head respectfully and said nothing. Murtagh wondered if Sapphira was coaching him.

The queen turned her attention to him. "The Varden said nothing of you. It is... a surprise, to see you again, Murtagh." So she _did_ remember him. There were no answering gasps of recognition from the crowd, but he could feel Thorn tensing beside him and tried to project calming thoughts. "I am curious to know how you found yourself in possession of a dragon's egg."

There was no way he could get away with the respectful head nod. "I find myself experiencing the same curiosity," he replied evenly. Let her make of that what she would -- it was true either way, whether she assumed he was talking about Thorn or the egg he'd seen her talk about in his vision.

She studied him a moment longer, saying nothing. There was only the slightest twitch to indicate the hint of a smile. She drew herself up, pulling authority around her as if she was in a royal court, and not standing in a snowy field. With the ease of someone well used to addressing large crowds, she pitched her voice to carry and said, "Very well. Welcome to the Sanctuary, Dragonriders."

**Eragon**

*Eragon.*

*Sapphira? What is it?* H'd been headed for the middle of camp, but turned instantly at Sapphira's mental nudge.

*You should see this,* she told him.

*Trouble?* He scrambled over a ditch as he tried to shortcut his way back to "their" spot on the outer edge of the valley -- the only place big enough for the dragons. Her response wasn't verbal, just a wave of _*lovecutefunnyshhh*_ that had him trying to hurry and tiptoe at the same time. He was smiling even before he got close enough to see what had her so happy.

Murtagh was tucked up next to Thorn, wrapped up in blankets, and (to all outward appearances, at least) still asleep. In front of Thorn were four very young children. As he watched, one of them crept forward and held out a hand, palm up, like you would use to offer treats to a horse. Thorn reached down, slow as could be, and bumped her fingers with his nose. Giggles erupted from the little group. Eragon couldn't tell who was enjoying themselves more, Thorn or the children.

*Thorn?* he asked. *Is Murtagh really asleep?*

*Mmm, no. It is a very fine day. I like this place.*

Eragon nodded. It did have a certain sense of lightness about it. For a place that was essentially full of displaced refugees preparing for war, the camp felt oddly warm and welcoming, like a very large extended family was living there. He sent general agreement in Thorn's direction, then asked, *Can you warn him not to leap up with a sword or anything?*

Sapphira poked her head out of the trees. *What are you planning, Eragon? And no, I am not _hiding_ in the forest. I didn't want to frighten the children.* Eragon walked into the clearing, giving the kids a friendly smile and putting his finger to his lips. Except for another quiet giggle, they were silent, and he held up the snowball he'd made. With exaggerated care, he took aim and threw it towards what he hoped was the head end of the blankets.

The blankets twitched. Without looking, Murtagh said, "I thought it was supposed to be spring."

"It was," Eragon said solemnly, moving closer. "You've slept right through it, and now it's winter again."

More rustling from the blankets, and he shooed the kids back a few steps just in case. "In that case..." Murtagh said. Without warning, he leaped up and launched himself at Eragon. They went down in a tangle of limbs and blankets, wrestling for control.

When they were fighting for training, Eragon could usually hold his own against Murtagh. This time, Murtagh dumped snow down his back and flipped him while he was still gasping. "In that case," Murtagh repeated, grinning. "Did we win?"

Outwardly, Eragon laughed, and let Murtagh pull him off the wet ground. Deep in his head, though, he could feel it -- humming through Sapphira, and Thorn, and echoing between the four of them until the thought seemed to come from everyone at once.

*We will.*

**Murtagh**

They took turns participating in the camp's daily training sessions. At first they'd both joined in, until the dragons decided they wanted to watch, and it had been "politely requested" that either Eragon or Murtagh stayed off the field to "liaise."

It had taken four separate people telling him that "really, no one had ever been seriously hurt in training" before he realized why they seemed so worried. In the old days, the only reason a dragon would have watched its rider's training was because the rider had ordered them to -- because the rider thought they needed the extra protection (or intimidation) of having a dragon looking over their shoulder.

Eragon thought it was hilarious. They both tried to reassure everyone that the dragons just thought it was fun to watch, and were met with varying degrees of disbelief. The children took them at their word, and kept sneaking away from wherever they were supposed to be to show Thorn some new pebble they'd found, or ask if they could touch Sapphira's wings. The adults -- the ones who remembered the old dragonriders -- watched all of them suspiciously.

He thought they were gradually warming up to the idea, though. Eragon made sure to smile disarmingly a lot, and say things like, "I'd never even _seen_ a dragon before Sapphira!" (Loudly, and usually at mealtimes, when there were the most people around.) Murtagh, who'd been assured by Eragon that he absolutely failed at appearing innocent and disingenuous, made do by hoisting children up on his shoulders to pat Thorn.

The alternating training sessions turned out to be more helpful than expected. For one thing, it forced them to work with a new set of people. There were only just so many times you could fight the same person before you could anticipate all their moves. Plus, it meant that whoever wasn't training got to watch.

The Sanctuary's training ground was surrounded by a fence. It seemed to be there mostly to keep people from accidentally wandering in, and its sturdiness was likely to become a problem with the thawing ground, but there were a few sections strong enough to lean on.

"I had heard that the dragonrider who fought at Farthen Dur was right handed." The queen stepped up beside him and put her hands on the fence. He glanced sideways at her, but she was looking out at the fighters. He was never sure how he was supposed to address her, or if he was supposed to acknowledge the silent and ever-present guard accompanying her. The benefit to her abrupt manner of speaking, he thought, was that he rarely had to.

Murtagh gave a short nod that could have been interpreted as agreement or simply acknowledgement of her presence. He always felt like he was on the defensive around Iluria. He wondered what she was really asking -- and how she knew that. The Varden? The elves? "Battle injury," he said. "He's adapted well to left-handed sword work."

She said nothing, and for a long moment they simply watched the fighters. "How did he defeat Durza?"

How was he supposed to answer that? He'd seen only pieces of the battle when it was happening, too busy fighting for his own life on the ground. But Eragon and Sapphira still had nightmares about it -- her injuries, his reckless leap, how close they both came to death while trying to save the other. He finally settled on a one-word answer. "Magic," he said.

It was at that moment that Eragon noticed them. His concentration wavered, and his opponent pressed the advantage. Eragon stumbled and fell backwards -- then there was a flash, like the reflection of the sun off his blade, but magnified a hundred-fold, and Eragon kicked his opponent's feet out from under him. The man fell, and green shoots sprang out of the mud to bind his wrists and ankles like rope. "Yield!" the man called out.

The plants disappeared. Eragon's opponent leaped to his feet, laughing. "It's supposed to be a _last resort_ , Eragon!"

"It was!" Eragon protested.

"It _wasn't_ ," the man insisted. "Let's try the move again." He stepped next to Eragon with no hesitation. As they walked through the series, Murtagh shifted his gaze back to the queen. It was a rare thing for a dragonrider to have such an affinity for magic so early. Much more rare to also have an affinity for people, to inspire friendship instead of fear, loyalty instead of intimidation.

For the first time since they'd entered the camp, Murtagh saw surprise in the queen's expression, and a flicker of something that could have been hope. "Magic," she said. "I see."

**Eragon**

"Hey, Eragon, wait up!"

He paused at the door of the armory (makeshift thought it might be) and saw Roran hurrying to meet him. He felt a flash of guilt that he hadn't spent more time with his cousin since arriving at the Sanctuary. They'd had one extremely uncomfortable conversation in which Eragon had tried to apologize for Roran's father being killed, and Roran tried to apologize for not helping when Eragon had been fleeing for his life, and both of them had been relieved when it was over.

"Can I talk with you for a minute?" Roran asked. He glanced around. "Where's your friend?"

"Murtagh? Probably back with Thorn and Sapphira -- why?" Roran looked relieved, and Eragon frowned. "What's going on?"

"Well..." He stopped, then said, "I was wondering..."

Roran trailed off again. Eragon considered that the few times he'd seen Roran recently, he'd been with the queen. And was apparently on a first-name basis with her, although it was hard to tell how unusual that was in the camp. "Roran," he said slowly, "did the queen tell you to ask me something? Because we're cousins?"

And Roran hadn't changed at all -- he just grinned, and clapped Eragon on the back. "She didn't phrase it exactly like that, you know." He looked much more relaxed once he stopped trying to be subtle.

In the back of his head, Sapphira was suddenly paying attention. He could actually feel her nudging the others, and it was like being in a crowd, and suddenly having everyone stop talking and look at you. He wasn't sure whether he should be reassured or alarmed, and ended up feeling a little of both.

"We're not trying to hide anything," he told Roran. "Whatever you want to know, just ask." It was sort of mostly true. There were a few things he would rather not blurt out in public, but he was counting on Roran to not know which questions to ask to get at those answers.

"Right, here goes," Roran said. "She wants to know about a sword -- one Brom should have given to you? She said the Varden told her you had it."

Eragon blinked. He was sure his disbelief must be clear in his voice when he asked, "Zar'roc? She wants the sword?"

Roran looked completely serious. "Do you have it?"

"Yes. Roran, why is this so important?"

"Is it here?" Roran asked. He paused, then added, "Do you not use it during training because it would create a rift between you and Murtagh?"

"What?" Eragon rubbed his forehead. "Did the queen really ask whether Murtagh and I are squabbling like children over a _sword_?"

Roran shrugged. "She just wants to know if it's here or not. I heard the other thing from a guard last night."

"Look, the sword -- Zar'roc -- it has a lot of history. Bad history." He felt nothing but encouragement from Sapphira, so he elaborated. "It once belonged to Morzan, who used it to kill Brom's dragon. Then Brom used it to kill Morzan, whose dragon died with him. It's a dragon-killer, and Sapphira and Thorn don't like it, and it's not like it has good associations for me or Murtagh. So we don't use it," he finished awkwardly.

"Right." Roran looked confused, but Eragon was starting to think that was just a front to keep people off-guard. "I'll let her know."

**Murtagh**

They took a day to go flying, and returned at dusk to find the queen waiting for them. "We must talk," she said.

Thorn rumbled uneasily. He continued to insist that something was "off" about the queen -- what, he couldn't (or wouldn't) say. Murtagh eyed the queen warily. "All right," he said finally, when it looked like she was waiting for an answer.

"About what?" Eragon asked. Murtagh kicked him in the ankle before he could add anything about the baby. Eragon was endlessly curious about the infant they'd seen with the queen in Murtagh's vision, despite Murtagh's insistence that it was _not_ any of their business.

"Why did you choose this camp?" the queen asked, looking serious. "We are mostly mothers and children; it is the Varden and the elves who make up the main fighting forces."

That wasn't the question he'd been expecting. Once again, he found himself wondering if she was trying to imply some potentially sinister motive. Then again, why _had_ they picked this camp? "We ran out of food and you were the closest" didn't seem like the kind of answer she was looking for.

"Because of the egg," Eragon said. "We know you have one, or had one, at least. Durza poisoned them, and we're the only ones who can fix it."

The queen took a step back. "How do you know that? No one should know that."

*Don't tell her about the vision yet.* Thorn sounded like he was concentrating, probably trying once again to pinpoint his "off" feeling.

"Is it still here?" he asked. He wasn't going to tell her how they knew she had an egg, and if she couldn't figure out how they knew about Durza, with Thorn _right there_ , she wasn't as smart as he'd thought. They probably should have tried to find the egg earlier, but Sapphira had said there was no hurry.

"Yes, it's in a safe place," the queen said. "I would never -- I never wanted to cause harm."

Sudden shock rolled through both dragons so strongly that he was surprised it wasn't visible in the clearing. He put a hand out, touching Thorn to steady himself and offer what comfort he could. *The king's dragon -- she's bonded to him. She is Shruiken's rightful rider; Galbatorix has somehow corrupted their bond.* Thorn's words were tinged with fear. Sapphira loomed over them, spreading her wings protectively, like she could keep them safe with her sheer physical presence.

The queen winced. "Your dragons have likely discovered my secret," she said. She looked between the four of them and shook her head. "I've never seen any dragonriders, nor dragons, like you." She took a deep breath. "Galbatorix and I met as young riders in training. He was the most amazing man I'd ever known, and Shruiken adored him. When we married, he was already planning to seek out the shades and try to make peace. Instead, they betrayed him, killing his dragon and setting Durza as his watchdog. He returned a broken man, focused only on revenge. He would have killed me for daring to have a dragon when he did not."

Her eyes were pleading when they met his, begging for absolution for a decision he couldn't even begin to comprehend. "Shruiken would have done anything to save me. There was a chance -- I told him to go, to try to save Galbatorix from his madness. He left me because I forced him to."

*No.* Sapphira's denial was loud enough to echo, and even the queen snapped her head around. *A dragon never leaves its rider, not completely. Not even in death.*

"Sapphira believes Shruiken is still bonded to you," Eragon explained.

"Impossible."

"A dragon can suppress the bond," Eragon said. "But it's still there. For someone who's been through that, you're really..." He trailed off uncomfortably.

"Sane?" Murtagh offered. Just because he felt bad for her didn't mean he'd forgotten everything she'd done -- and hadn't done -- when he and the others had been sent away.

Eragon glared at him. " _Conscious._ I was going to say conscious."

The queen was watching them with confusion. "You've experienced this?" she asked.

"It's a long story," he told her.

"I'm sure," she murmured. "I'd like to hear it someday. But not today. It's nearly full dark; we will speak more in the morning." Watching her stride across the clearing, it was hard to believe she was the same person who'd looked so vulnerable just minutes before. She walked away without looking back.

**Eragon**

As soon as the queen was gone, he turned inward, trying to soothe Sapphira's distress. The bond between them flared and he could feel all of them -- Sapphira's heartbeat as familiar as his own, mingling with Thorn's trust and Murtagh's desire to protect. He found himself next to Murtagh as the dragons pressed in close, warmth and comfort flowing around them like a blanket.

They fell asleep still linked together, which was probably how they all found themselves together in a dreamscape tinged the palest green.

*Greetings.* A tiny dragon perched on an egg in front of them.

Thorn exuded curiosity. He dropped his head down to eye level with the -- dragon-ling? Dragon-ette? *How is it that you are able to speak with us? Are you not entrapped by Durza's spells?*

*That doesn't matter here.* The dragon flapped its wings playfully. *We won't meet for a long time, but the power created by your bond has allowed me to come here, to see you as you are now. And to thank you, for all that you have done.*

Sapphira ruffled her wings in appreciation, but Eragon still felt wary. He knew dragons didn't think of time the same way he and Murtagh did -- Sapphira had told him she'd waited a thousand years for him, and he could hardly imagine such a long period of time -- still, it didn't seem quite right, that the dragon inside the egg was aware and talking to them. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

*Only what you are already planning to do, dragonrider. Purging my egg of the shade's dark magic, and providing a safe place for me to pass the years.* The dragon looked up, away from them. *'Ware, riders. Your spirits shine bright -- a beautiful beacon, but a beacon nonetheless.*

And with that, it curled up in a tight circle and went to sleep. Message delivered, conversation over. The scene shifted, and Eragon shivered as the river town of Daret formed around them. Angela stepped out of the fog. For someone who claimed she could see the future, Eragon thought she looked pretty surprised to see the four of them. Her eyes widened as she took in the group, but it was Murtagh she focused on. "You found him," she said.

"Both of them," Murtagh answered. Sapphira nudged him with her wing, and he amended, "All of them." He gave Angela a sort of half-smile. "'If the future is a dark forest, then destiny is a well-marked trail. Even so, the steps we take are our own.' You told me that, once."

"I'm glad," she said, and Eragon hoped he wasn't supposed to know what they were talking about. "I bring a warning, for all of you."

Eragon watched her struggle to find words. For the first time, he realized that it _was_ a struggle, to take the symbols and imagery that filled the space around her and turn them into something clear. Something helpful in the moment, instead of profound in hindsight. "Galbatorix," she said finally. "He knows where you are. He's coming. He's close."

**Murtagh**

He was on his feet and moving even before he was fully awake. The dragons launched themselves into the air as he and Eragon sprinted towards the center of camp.

*Nothing to the west.*

*I see them -- they're alone, headed for the Sanctuary.*

He could hear Thorn and Sapphira's commentary easily over the sound of his pounding steps. By the time they reached the queen's tent, they'd drawn a significant crowd -- a lot of people with weapons looking around like they might have somehow slept through an invasion, and now were wondering if they were the only ones who couldn't see the enemy. When the queen emerged -- unarmed -- the confusion grew.

"Galbatorix is coming," Eragon said. Iluria looked at him like she thought he might be slow in the head.

"No, he's coming _now_ ," Murtagh clarified. "He and Shruiken are minutes away."

*Less than that, now.* He looked up, eyes unerringly drawn to the direction Thorn was watching, and he could see the rapidly approaching dot that must be Shruiken. The crowd shifted uneasily. He could feel a similar anxiousness from Thorn -- Shruiken was _huge_. Dragons never stopped growing, and with his extra decades, Shruiken easily dwarfed the younger two.

*Shruiken wears no armor.* He hoped that was a good sign. They had only the queen's word that Shruiken might not be completely loyal to Galbatorix, and most of the camp didn't even have that. If she was wrong, they were in an incredibly vulnerable position. He and Eragon _might_ be able to shield themselves from dragon fire, but they definitely wouldn't be able to spread it out over a group.

Eragon must have had the same thought, because he started shouting for people to back up, spread out, make themselves less of one huge target. Murtagh couldn't take his eyes off the approaching dragon. As he got closer, it was clear some sort of struggle was going on. *What's happening?* he asked Thorn.

There was no answer, just a wave of emotion as Shruiken roared and then appeared to go limp. Then he was plummeting towards the earth, Thorn and Sapphira diving together to try to break his fall, bear some of the weight. All three dragons hit the ground in a more-or-less controlled tumble. Shruiken and Galbatorix were unconscious -- as Thorn took up a guard position, Murtagh finally looked away, just in time to see the queen turn ghost-pale and sway on her feet.

Roran caught her as she fainted. In the shocked silence, a baby started to cry.

**Eragon**

There was a part of him -- it was small, and he was doing his best to ignore it -- that thought the fight with Durza had been a lot easier than this. It had been awful, full of pain and fear and hate and death, but in an hour, it had been over -- Durza was dead and he and Sapphira were alive, and that was that.

*That's only because you slept for three days straight after that.* It was Murtagh, in his head, and the surprise was enough that he almost missed the next thoughts. *The Varden had meetings like this too. What to do with the prisoners, the injured, the dead. Me. You.*

*So it's always like this?*

*Well. Not exactly like this.*

Eragon sighed. He wasn't sure what Shruiken had been trying to do, but he really hoped the current situation wasn't it. Galbatorix was still unconscious, and Shruiken was drifting in and out. There were a lot of people in the camp with very personal reasons to hate both of them -- Thorn and Sapphira were on guard, but it wasn't completely clear whether they were guarding the Sanctuary from Galbatorix, or the other way around. Mostly there was a lot of shouting, from a lot of people who knew even less than he did about what was going on.

He couldn't kill a helpless person. Of course, even if Galbatorix woke up and started attacking, there were other issues to consider. If Shruiken had to keep himself on the edge of unconsciousness to prevent Galbatorix from waking up, then they were connected enough so that killing Galbatorix would probably kill Shruiken as well. Which, if Sapphira was right, would kill the queen. And then where would they be?

*The sword.* Sapphira's mental voice broke into his thoughts. *She wanted to know if we still had it. Galbatorix has one. Find out if she does as well.* There was a sense of being grudgingly impressed from both dragons. *This could be a much more clever plan than it seems.*

Eragon looked around for Roran and began edging in that direction. "Roran," he whispered (loudly, since there was still a lot of shouting). "Does the queen have a dragonrider sword?"

Roran looked surprised. "Yes?" he said. "At least, I think she does."

"We need to talk to her," Eragon said. He frowned at the crowd that was gathered inside the tent. "Can't she call a rest break or something? Meal time?" And the look he got for _that_ was pure disbelief, but Roran said, "I'll see what I can do," and less than ten minutes later, people started filing out of the tent.

The queen looked exhausted, but launched into an explanation as soon as they mentioned the swords. "There are other dragons out there," she said. "Wild dragons, who have never known a rider. They are the only ones who might be able to bring Galbatorix's mind back to him. To call them requires a great deal of magic -- as well as the focus stones in the hilts of three dragonrider swords."

**Murtagh**

He blamed the elves. He hadn't shared the theory with Eragon, but that was mostly because Eragon hadn't stopped talking long enough to get a word in. Hadn't stopped talking at all since they'd been unceremoniously banished from the camp for the duration of the "negotiations."

Eragon was _not_ happy. He was throwing rocks at a nearby tree, timed in near-perfect synch with Sapphira's cranky huffs. It was the sheer anticlimax of it all, Murtagh thought, that was the hardest to take. Tell someone they're the last, best hope -- the one everyone's been waiting for -- then tell them they had to go sit on a hill and wait for it to be over... Well, it was a change.

"It's probably the elves' fault," he finally said, just to hear Eragon be upset about something else.

"I can't believe -- really?" Eragon stopped mid-throw, looking over at him in surprise. "Why?"

Murtagh leaned back on his elbows. "Sure," he said. "The elves created the original agreement with dragons, centuries ago, laying down the guidelines for how riders and dragons would work together. They're also the ones who petitioned for humans to be added to the agreement. The dragons who are left -- the wild dragons -- are descendants of the ones who chose not to be bonded to a rider. We've had generations of separation, and then we beg for their help? _After_ so many dragons died? They're in no mood to think kindly of us, I'm sure."

Eragon thought for a moment. Then he said, without even a glance at Sapphira (which meant he had figured it out on his own, or at least was getting less obvious about the times Sapphira nudged him in the right direction), "The elves set terms for a bond of servitude, instead of partnership." He nodded, and Eragon frowned. "So what are they doing here now, then?"

It was a good question. He hadn't expected the wild dragons to respond to the queen's call. Three of them, all easily as large as Shruiken, had flown into camp at midday. The first thing they'd done was order him and Eragon to leave. "They must want something."

"Reconciliation?" Eragon looked hopeful, but also doubtful. "Or to say no to her face?"

"Or the egg," Murtagh said, the thought just occurring to him. What would they do if the dragons tried to take the egg? They'd all but promised the tiny creature inside it that they would personally see to its safety -- would giving it to the wild dragons to look after be a betrayal?

"They can't have it," Eragon said simply. "It's already chosen; it wants to stay with us." Sapphira huffed again, and then Thorn let them know Roran was coming, and didn't look happy.

Eragon didn't throw any rocks after his cousin showed up, but Murtagh was pretty sure he wanted to. He was pretty sure _Roran_ wanted to. "They've agreed to help," Roran said. "I think. They want to take Galbatorix with them."

"What about Shruiken?"

"No, he's staying, with the queen. But they want the egg."

Murtagh looked at Eragon. That was going to be a problem.

**Eragon**

It was amazing how many people had an opinion about a topic they knew almost nothing about. And how loudly they were willing -- eager, even -- to share that opinion. The dragons wanted to take the egg. He didn't want that to happen. The queen was willing to take a stand about the egg, but wanted their promise that they would serve as dragonriders under her rule. The dragons were willing to let them be caretakers of the egg, but only if they _didn't_ serve the queen. For some reason, everyone in the camp felt the need to gather around and shout at them, which wasn't helping at all.

Really, they were just lucky no one had noticed that Murtagh had his knife out yet. (What Murtagh was planning to do with a knife, he had no idea, but he could feel Thorn's unease at being surrounded by so many people.)

*Put that away,* he thought as forcefully as he could in Murtagh's direction. He got a startled look, but the knife disappeared. Then he tried to think of something impressive or important-sounding -- finally he just shouted, "Hey!" as loud as he could. It certainly got people's attention, and he found himself wishing he'd thought the whole thing out a little more beforehand.

"We have listened to your concerns," he told the gathered crowd. "Many valid points have been made." Muttering started up from a group on his right, and he glared in that direction. " _None of them_ change the truth -- that all of us have the right to choose our own path. Sapphira and Thorn are not bound in service to the crown; we are not required to stay and fight a war that is all but over." More muttering; he ignored it.

"We have made friends here, and among the Varden, and the elves. One day, we hope to say the same of the dragons," he added, with a slight bow in the direction of the three towering visitors. "But we have made a promise -- a promise to defend and protect _this egg_ \-- and we will keep that promise."

"We're leaving," he finished simply. There was nothing else to explain. He'd said everything he wanted to say.

**Murtagh**

It took a month for the first student to find them. A month of swimming in the sea (Sapphira), sunning on the beach (Thorn), and Eragon telling him he needed a haircut. They didn't worry much about intruders, living pretty much out in the middle of nowhere, and it had taken a minute before his brain caught up with what his eyes were telling him -- that there was a person walking towards him, and it wasn't Eragon.

"Hello?" the stranger called. He was young enough to look like he shouldn't be travelling alone, and he looked vaguely familiar. Thorn twitched, but didn't bother to open his eyes. His wings were stretched to their fullest along the sand, and he was well settled into his afternoon nap.

*Eragon? Sapphira? We have a visitor -- on the beach.* He could feel their surprise, knew they were on their way. "I can tell you're awake, you know, you're not actually fooling anyone," he said to Thorn, and got a wave of sleepy indignation in return.

The stranger came to a wary halt, nowhere near far enough away to be out of range if Thorn decided to move. "I can't believe I actually found you," he said. "This is -- well, it's amazing."

That wasn't the word Murtagh had been thinking of. "What are you doing here?" he asked. Sapphira landed next to him, careful not to kick up too much sand, and Eragon slid off her back. He had two swords with him, and Murtagh realized he hadn't been carrying his. It felt good, the freedom they'd found -- like a weight he'd been carrying his whole life had finally lifted, all the more precious because they'd known all along it wouldn't last forever.

"I'm here to learn," the boy said. "To be a dragonrider." Really? He glanced sideways, but Eragon looked as surprised as he felt.

"The next generation of dragonriders will be more than just warriors," the boy told them earnestly. "You're the first, you teach us how to do it."

He frowned. Something about that wording... "Who told you this? What's your name?"

Eragon added, "What makes you think we can teach you anything?" He waved a hand, encompassing the deserted landscape. "There's nothing here."

"There's an egg. And four teachers. And me," the boy said defiantly. "And there will be more, eggs and dragons and students. My father told me. I'm named after him. Thom." He held out a hand, and Murtagh shook it without hesitation, even as the mental background noise from the dragons kicked up a notch.

It said something about his life that the idea of his formerly-thought-to-be-dead friend not only being alive, but capable of seeing the future, and sending his child to live with them didn't seem completely far-fetched. "All right," he said.

It was only later, after they'd established that yes, the senior Thom was doing well (married, travelling, two other children), and yes, the junior Thom was hungry after his journey and liked fish (and could he touch Sapphira, and Thorn?), that Eragon put an arm around his shoulder and said, "So, your father saw us in a vision, right?"

Thom nodded, his mouth full of smoked fish. "In this vision, did Murtagh have short hair?" Eragon asked. "Because I keep telling him it's getting too long, but --" Murtagh chased him towards the surf, laughing the whole way. After all, what was life without a little excitement?


End file.
